


Hunted

by SoftKing



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Biting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Bruises, But also, Curses, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Explicit Sexual Content, Feral Behavior, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lack of Communication, M/M, Marking, Mild Angst, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Obsessive Behavior, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Revelations, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, also jas puts up a fight bc he doesn't want geralt to hate him, chapter 2 will take care of that so dw, he's only acting on previous desire tho, mild dub con bc geralt is cursed, or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftKing/pseuds/SoftKing
Summary: Geralt is driven mad by a Samodiva, who pawns the obsession onto who already holds his affection.Jaskier is with him as usual and gets to experience a Witcher without restraint, to be the obsession of one Geralt of Rivia.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 46
Kudos: 1218
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. How It Happened

“I can _smell_ you, Jas.” Geralts voice hissed out and around Jaskier as he slunk lower behind a tree. He had both hands covering his mouth, head tilted up to allow silent airflow and eyes set forward, looking desperately for another hiding place.

When Geralt had warned him of the effects the Samodiva’s song could have on a man’s mind, he never considered how differently it could affect the witcher instead. He doesn’t think geralt considered it either too hard, stupid witcher pride keeping him from admitting that maybe, just maybe, he could have a weakness. He held his breath and strained his ears, hearing air flow in and out Geralt’s nose as he scented the air, trying to find him.

He waits.

_Inhale_.

He waits.

Leaves crunch under the witchers weight as he heads in the opposite direction, nose still in the air. Jaskier slowly lets the air out of his lungs and tugs his overcoat off his shoulders, laying it over a branch above him and stepping carefully away. 

The villagers had spoken of men and women going missing after leaving for hunts in the nearby forest, hauntingly beautiful voices singing late into the night and a few ritualistic dances deep in the wood. The few that had come back had either died soon after or been killed for attempting to force themselves on the object of their affection. Geralt is hunting him, he knows this. The only chance he has to escape is to throw the man off, he’s not completely coherent and is acting more like an animal in search of prey than a man with a contract to fulfill. Jaskier had left his scent purposefully behind as he had run away, dropping his precious lute where it couldn’t be crushed, his favorite sash and now his jacket. 

He hoped it was enough.

It wasn’t.

He was no further than 50 yards from the tree when a sharp thorn caught on the exposed skin of his forearm, drawing blood to the surface and beading over, dripping onto the forest floor.

“Fuck, no, no, no,” It was barely a whisper, as he was still straining his ears for any sign of the witcher. He moved to the right, crouched down in a bush and pulled out his dagger, cutting a strip of fabric off his undershirt with a grimace. The blade had been a gift from the Witcher, black as coal with a teal leather wrapped handle that marked it as his, about 7 to 8 inches in length.

Geralt so owed him a new outfit if he got out of this.

When. When he got out of this, whatever it was.

He wrapped it quickly, replacing his dagger as he heard a single branch snap on his left. He whipped his head around and caught sight of Geralt standing where he had cut his arm. He was delicately touching the thorny vines, eyes almost glowing in the dark of the forest. His fingers pulled back streaked with blood and he brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes closing.

And when they opened, they were locked on Jaskiers own. The bard wished he didn’t see Geralt swipe his tongue across his bloody fingers, tasting what was to come as his pupils dilated further, focusing on the man’s location.

**“Found you,”** A smile, if it could even be called that, split the man’s face before he began stalking toward Jaskiers hiding place, not even bothering to maintain silent footsteps.

People say not to run from an animal that is hunting you, to show dominance and prove that you aren’t prey. But they haven’t gone up against Geralt, or any witcher in general. Contrary to popular belief, they were highly intelligent and terribly perceptive, plus they knew each other too well for him to think the bard was anything but easy pickings. Prey ripe for the taking.

So he ran.

He ran as fast as his legs would take him, between trunks, over fallen logs, in the direction of roach, bless her soul. She liked him enough to give geralt a non lethal kick to the chest hopefully, just enough to knock him out and let this thing run its course without the bodily harm. But Gods, he should have known he wasn’t that lucky. He had just passed a small clearing (he was not going through it, that’s how you die) when the fall of feet behind him became overly intense and he risked a glance over his shoulder.

Geralt was right behind him. He could have easily tackled the younger man by now, but he didn’t. He was barely arms length away and looked just fine with that, that sickening smile still cutting across his face. He turned back in time to see the branch on the floor but not in time to stop himself, he launched himself off one foot over it, skidding to his knees on the other side, feeling warm blood rush to the surface on the skin there.

Before he could scramble to his feet, something took hold of his upper body and slammed it to the ground. When he blinked the stars from his eyes, there was a heavy weight along his whole frame, hands on his shoulders and legs on the outside of his. He was pinned.

Hot breath tickled the back of his neck and ear, “Got you now, little lark.”

Jaskier’s mouth started running a mile a minute, this wasn’t the Geralt he knew, with kind eyes behind a stony demeanor. This Geralt growled at his pleas, his desperate questions close to his ear, huffing against his neck. At this point he was spewing nonsense, but what else was new?

“Stop squirming.” This was accompanied by the sharp sting of canines piercing the skin on the nape of his neck and he cried out. The teeth stayed through his slight struggles, tightening when he tried to pull away. He finally let his head go limp against the first floor, drawing a rumble of approval from the man behind him, teeth releasing their grip. Geralt sat up, hands still holding his shoulders down, knees pressed to the backs of his thighs and resting his weight on Jaskiers rear with a sigh. The bard turned his head to the side, feeling blood spill down his neck toward his face as he looked at Geralt.

“What is wrong with you, Geralt? Just tell me and I can help you, there’s no need for this violence. I know I can be annoying sometimes, well often, but I help! That’s something you can’t /kill/ me over!”

The man shushed him softly, much softer than called for, “Stay, bard.”

Another flash of teeth and two strong hands pulled his shirt apart at the seams, ripping loudly in the now deafening silence of the forest. Warm hands ran the length of his spine, feeling each knob and curving around light muscle, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then a clothed torso pressed to his exposed back, warmth radiating through. Geralt’s lips brushed the shell of his ear and he flinched, making the man sigh again.

“You smell so much better when you aren’t afraid.” The words were mouthed against his sensitive skin, goosebumps breaking out against pale skin.

Jaskier laughed sharply, “Do you mean to kill me? Or simply torture me? I think I’d like to know my fate, witcher.”

“Neither.”

“Then shove off, you jackass!”

“No.”

Jaskier’s irritation grew as Geralt continued to run his face along the bards neck and jaw.

“Ah-!”

He bit me! Jaskier turned his head as far as he could without the teeth dislodging, glaring over his shoulder at the shining yellow eyes already turned up towards him. Geralt laved his tongue over the bite mark, chest rumbling when their eyes met and continued his ministrations. He sucked bits of neck and shoulder into his mouth, sucking and biting, then soothing it with his tongue, moving all around his shoulders as the bard slowly relaxed under him.

Feeling Geralt sit back again, he turned his head back again and whined at the view behind him. Geralt's eyes had turned, darkened sockets and veins showing. Even stranger, he was removing his armor with one hand, using the other to press the bruises he left behind, drawing more whines from under him.

When Geralt was in just his black shirt, he grabbed the high waistband of Jaskier’s pants and pulled them down as far as he could, ignoring the sputtering and protests underneath him. Once his ass was exposed to the night air, he felt the body warmed leather of Geralt’s own pants press against him and rock his hips against Jaskier.

“Wait, wait, what are you doing? It’s the call of the creature Geralt, I know you. You’ll hate us both in the morni-” The witcher interrupted by wrapping a hand around his neck and pulled his head back until his spine curved like a bow, cutting off the younger man’s protests.

“Don’t tell me what I want, my minstrel.” he paused to press his nose to Jaskiers throat, easily picking up the jackrabbit pulse, seeing the exposed artery jump under thin skin.

Geralt’s mouth watered as he remembered how sweet the blood had tasted, how easily the skin had broken and felt Jaskier draw breath raggedly under his palm.

“Come on now geralt, this really isn’t like you. I-”

His voice caught as the grip around his throat tightened and Geralt ground himself against the bard harder. That brought the bird out of his haze, remembering a bit of what the Witcher had told him about the creature’s influence before they had left for the hunt, despite the attempts to keep the singer in their room.

/“Even looking upon them can drive you into dying lust, Jaskier. You would become obsessed to the point of caring about nothing else, dying with nothing else on your mind. Just stay back and keep quiet for once.”/

/Oh shit./ Being the object of a witcher's affection didn’t seem like a very appealing thing for a monster to experience, the Somodiva must have attached the curse to Jaskier instead, giving herself plenty of time to escape. Hopefully the witcher had managed to damage her hair in the fight, bringing some solace to the villagers.

“Okay, okay. Relax, let me up and we can talk about this,” his hand slipped under his ruined shirt, fumbling through the fabric and wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. 

He swung his arm backwards in a short arc and was stopped short by Geralt's arm easily disarming him, releasing the grip on his throat. He fell face first back to the earth, gasping as Geralt tutted above him, tucking the blade into one of his own holsters, as the bard thrashed under him, yelling now that Geralt was going to hate him, he would regret doing this.

Jaskier was terrified that Geralt would be disgusted at his arousal, the mutant could’ve smelled it if he was a mortal man. His fantasy had come to life, one he had gotten off to many times before and he couldn’t enjoy it fully if Geralt wasn’t acting of his own free will.

What Jaskier didn’t know was that Geralt was acting on his own instincts along with the song’s consequence, the creature had disappeared too quickly for the effect to attach to herself and Geralt had found the scent of something familiar, his little songbird.

The miniscule part of his rational mind had let him know the bard was to be trusted, someone precious to them, something to be protected and coveted. He had taken off running toward it and when the scent had split, he delved further into witcher instinct, driven by the hunt.

Geralt's mind delved further into itself at the pheromones coming off the man under him in waves, stealing the most basic words from his head. Instead he shifted his sitting position backwards, hands slid perfectly into the groves of Jaskier’s hip bones, pulling his ass up into the air, undoing his own breeches as his eyes roamed over the pale expanse of skin before him. The laces were fucking annoying but his erection sprang free nonetheless and he sighed in relief, resuming a lazy grind.

“Geralt, my pants pocket, if you insist…” 

Geralt grunted, holding himself still as he found the small bottle of oil, growling when he saw it was half empty. The image of another seeing /his/ bard like this… His chest flushed as a wave of rage swept over him, almost imagining that he could smell someone else there with them. He poured oil over his hand haphazardly, taking a handful of flesh and slipping two in. 

The bard’s shaky gasps reached his ears as he added another shortly after, canines shining in the night as a feral grin crept in without his notice.

_oh fuck._ Jaskier was going to feel this for days, he wasn’t exactly used to the lack of foreplay but it seemed he wouldn’t get any of that here, now. He grit his teeth and pushed back against the palm that cradled him from behind, forcing deep breaths and focusing on loosening up around the intrusion. Another finger was added, pushing inside a few times before they were all removed at once. A knot of dread fell to his stomach when he heard Geralt slicking himself up.

  
  


“W-wait! Let me just, let me,” He blindly grabbed for the bottle, taking it from the witchers firm grip, pouring an amount on his own digits. He reached between his legs and slipped the fingers inside himself, hearing a snarl reverberate through the chill night air. He spread the three fingers apart inside himself and used his other hand to pour oil over and into himself, slicking himself as best as he could.

Geralt growled again and knocked his hands away, crowding against the bard’s back and using one hand to place the head of his cock against the slick pink opening. He slowly worked his hips forward, a fraction at a time. His songbird was shaking under him, little broken noises making their way out of his throat like music to Geralt's ears with every twitch of his soft insides. His hips reached Jaskier’s ass as he buried himself to the hilt, sighing as a bit of the cloud over his mind faded.

He waited for as long as he could, pulling himself back and pushing back in swiftly, Jaskier moaned open mouthed into the dirt. He repeated this, each unrelenting press of his hips intensifying until he was brutally fucking Jaskier as hard as he could, leaving bruises where his hands roamed, strength occasionally slipping from the mutants control.

Jaskiers mouth was open in a silent scream, overwhelmed with pleasure and disbelief. His eyes rolled back and he swore he could _feel_ Geralt in his _throat_. Calloused hands ran through soft brown locks and pushed his head down into the ground. He was vaguely aware of someone shushing him before he felt the rough pads of fingers against his tongue, forcing his mouth open and frankly ruining the perfectly meaningless begging he had been performing.

Geralt distantly recognized time passing, drool dripped from his gritted teeth, muscles growing tired for split seconds at a time. After what felt like hours, a smoldering heat grew in his abdomen and he hunched over the form beneath him, burying his face in the heady scent of woods, raspberries and spice.

Jaskier had already come twice when he felt a hand reach down for his sore erection, he attempted to push the hand away and got a thunderous growl that reverberated through his chest in response. He grabbed a handful of discarded shirt, placed it in his mouth to muffle the noise and bit into it until he felt his teeth would shatter. His final orgasm blindsiding him and leaving him moaning weakly through the cloth in his mouth as Geralt stroked him through it, only leaving to run a hand up his torso, spreading his own come across his chest.

Geralt felt the walls around his cock tighten and pulse around him, he pistoned his hips a few more times, then pressed as far into Jaskier as he could and groaned his seed into the bard. An overwhelming urge to mark his little bird caused him to lean down and sink his teeth into the exposed column of pale skin, growling as sweet blood entered his mouth and he continued to fill the bard, drawing out his release further.

Jaskier was brought back to consciousness by sharp pain, close enough to his artery to have him whining again. Geralt's heat left his back and slowly pulled out of him, leaving Jaskier’s bottom half to sway uncertainly before collapsing to the ground as well. He was exhausted and could just barely twitch his legs as Geralt's heat fully retreated from his form, leaving him shivering in the cool night air. His eyes slipped closed as the sounds of the forest returned and faded at the same time, vision blurring as the adrenaline crash came. He blinked, slower and slower until they stayed shut.

* * *

_Fuck_.

It was a small relief when Geralt’s sensibilities returned, he could think clearly and his senses were reined back in as he took in the… scene before him. His gaze roamed over Jaskier’s bruised, sleeping form and swallowed the knot in his throat, redoing the laces on his trousers as his gaze locked on the bites decorating the bards neck. No one in their right mind would allow his teeth that close to their life force. But when has Jaskier ever had a good sense of danger?  
  


_ He did know to run from you. He tried. _

Geralt shook the thought from his head, letting it clear itself and busying himself by gently pulling Jaskier’s trousers back up his slim hips. He ignored the shredded shirt on the ground, picking jaskiers arm up and slinging it around his shoulder, one hand under the crook of the man’s knees, the other spanning across his back in support. They needed to get to Roach.

This man was his responsibility and he took advantage of that trust.

As Geralt carried Jaskier to their original campsite, memories of the event made themselves known to the rest of his brain, showing Jaskier running from him in the forest for so long and remembering that it felt like a game. Geralt would let him get away, just far enough to cloud his senses, then get close enough to hear his heartbeat, taste the anticipation in the air. It was the closest he felt to an animal since his last winter at Kaer Morhen, battling his fellow witchers with all the strength they possessed.

Geralt tore himself from his thoughts, realizing he had been staring at where the bards head hung limply off his shoulders, exposing his neck and the ring of bruises in the shape of the witchers hands and mouth. He poked his tongue out absentmindedly, face twisting in discomfort when he tasted the remnants of blood on his teeth and lips.

They reached Roach shortly after, she had dislodged herself from the branch she had been tied to and perked up at their entrance. She was halfway to giving Geralt a head bump against his chest when she spotted the figure in his arms and snuffled over him, rearing her head back and sneezing when she got to the brown hair sticking up at strange angles.

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched and he moved to Roach’s side, placing Jaskier face down in the saddle and drew a blanket over him, covering the last of the chilled pale skin.

He had smelled Jaskiers fear directed at him for the first time that night. When he had first charged toward him, the scent in the air had turned sour, an acrid taste in his mouth that lingered like a poison overlaying regular sweat and raspberries. Now he smelled of himself and Geralt.

Just them.

Geralt patted his pouches down, feeling a foreign lump and pulling a small wad of blonde hair out of it. At least one thing was going right, he had evidence of the Samodiva’s loss of power and could collect his reward. Get a room for Jaskier, a bed for him to recover in.  


Geralt gripped Roach’s reigns tightly and started to lead her toward town, ignoring the heavy weight in his chest that grew in size with every sound his companion made.


	2. Sour Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt might be emotionally constipated, but there's an exception desperately needed. How is he supposed to make this up to Jaskier?

Finding a inn to take them had been easier than usual, given Jaskier’s body strewn across his horse and evidence that the monster had been depowered, the townsfolk were grateful enough to give him a room free and housing for Roach. Even the drunkards had given him a wider berth than needed as he hefted his bard over a shoulder and pushed his way upstairs, careful not to jostle the man in his arms.

Geralt grimaced and carefully set the bard on their bed, rummaging through his bag until he found their healing salve, dragging a small wooden table over and setting his things down on it. Careful fingers gripped the edge of the blanket that was wrapped protectively around him and pulled it away to reveal the bruised form beneath. Jaskier shivered at the loss of heat but did not awake, Geralt couldn’t tell if he felt more relieved or concerned.

He unscrewed the cap and took a generous glob of salve, tapping small drops on each bruise, subconsciously counting each one when he went back and rubbed more onto sensitive skin. Jaskier’s skin was warm and soft to the touch, something he hadn’t noticed when he was… previously indisposed. He took in the feeling greedily now, gaze jumping to each muscle that flexes under his touch, as there was a surprising amount of those. Obviously the bard wasn’t stacked or as large as the witcher but he carried strength with himself, toned and limber beneath him.

Jaskier let out a content sigh and Geralt ripped his hand back like he’d been burned. It wasn’t bad enough that he’d taken the bard without his explicit consent but now he was touching him while unconscious? He swallowed the bile that rose to the back of his throat and stood momentarily from the bedside, finding a cloth from the bard’s pack and dipping it into their waterskins. He kept his touch tactile as he washed the evidence of their trist from the bard’s body, scrubbing chest and underarm hair as best as he could.

_ He needs a bath. _

And yet, the prospect of having to undress and bathe the sleeping poet felt like overstepping his bounds, as though they hadn’t already been demolished. Instead, he cleaned what he could, trying to be as impersonal as possible, and failing spectacularly. Golden eyes found the deep bites upon Jaskier’s neck, having stopped their sluggish bleeding already. He hesitantly wiped them down and cursed when they reopened despite his attempts to be gentle, returning with more healing salve and small bandages. Jaskier whined when he rubbed the salve over the bites, trying to twist away from Geralt's grip in his sleep. Geralt clenched his jaw and placed the bandages, forcing his shoulders to relax when his bard curled around himself, almost around the scarred hand laying on his throat.

Geralt shambled to the spare chair in the room and collapsed into it, feeling impossibly old for a witcher, kicking his legs out and slumping down in his seat. He rubbed at the tension in his furrowed brow, realizing Jaskier had left his lute and jacket deep in the woods. He couldn’t fully blame the bard though, the circumstances had been of survival, for once not caring about that precious lute or his fashion. That would certainly change when he awoke.

So he redressed in his armor and swords, setting out to take Roach back to their previous hunt. Before he exited the inn, he dropped coin on the counter with instructions to bring up food and a bath when he returned, otherwise no one was to enter the room under any circumstances. 

  
  


* * *

Geralt stood quietly in the doorway, lute over one shoulder. Jaskier had curled up and surrounded himself with the blankets on the bed, only his face and a tuft of dark hair spilling out over where he was covered. The witchers hearing focused past the night crowd downstairs, past the rowdy shouts and off-key singing, zeroing in on the steady breathing and heartbeat of the man sleeping in his bed. Geralt gravitated toward the bed, pulled a step by each beat of his slow heart until he was towering over the bard, shadows cast across his face.

Geralt brought a wrist up to his lips and stripped a glove off with his teeth, fingertips drifting across the soft skin before him. Jaskier turned his head into the touch, blinking his eyes open and humming happily at the sight of the witcher. Geralt cupped his cheek for a moment before withdrawing himself fully, setting down what he could recover of Jaskier’s things. Jaskier scrambled out of the blankets at the sight of his lute, carefully picking it up and testing the strings, setting it back in its case with a firm nod. He thanked Geralt so sincerely it stole his breath and a knock came from the door before he could respond. Jaskier called for them to come in, even as he was only standing there in his trousers. Geralt grumbled, bodily moving between Jaskier and the entering caretaker, ignoring the bards protests of being perfectly viewable behind his back.

Once the tub was filled, Geralt dismissed the worker, sighing and removing his other glove, intent on getting the grime off his body. Dropping his swords against the wall, he had gotten his braces off when he felt his bard’s presence draw closer, deft fingers working the rest of his armor off. Fully stripped, Geralt lowered himself in the steaming water with a groan, muscle involuntarily untensing. His eyes slanted open to see Jaskier staring at him, quickly turning his head toward his belongings and rummaging through them as his cheeks flushed at being caught. Amber eyes tracked his movements until,

"Aren't you going to join me?"

His back went rigid and he whipped his head around to meet the heavily lidded gaze. For a moment they simply stared at each other, watching for any sign of interest, which Geralt caught first of course. He watched Jaskier's gaze trail down his body and licked his lips, just to see his bards eyes flick back up and for that pink across his face and chest to darken. 

Seeming at a loss for words, the normally talkative man floundered at the heated gaze.

"I, um, I'm not sure I should do that, Geralt. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable…"

Geralt hmm'd and gestured him closer, taking hold of the back of a thigh when he was within range, making his bard step closer, "I wouldn't have asked if I minded."

He brought his hand lower on the bards leg, watching the man's expressive blue eyes darken, "Please, join me, it's the least I can do."

Jaskier blinked at him for a moment, then he stepped away from the tub fully. Geralt cursed his own impatience as he watched the other return to his bag.

Jaskier turned back to him with several bottles in hand, "Can't have a proper bath without soap, Geralt. And no, /that/," he points to the bar the caretaker had left inside the bucket, "does not count. Dreadful thing, claiming to be as good as these."

Geralt fought a smile from his face, his bard was talking to him again, hopefully he could entice him to stay. He couldn't fight the rising heat in his chest when Jaskier poured the contents of a bottle into the water, placing the rest to the side and unbuttoning his trousers. Geralt averted his eyes once they came off but it was damn near impossible, catching glimpses of red and purple staining upon the man's hips. He focused on the smell of raspberries and closed his eyes until he felt the water shift, now seeing his companion partially submerged and reaching for the bottle of chamomile. He was dissatisfied to find that Jaskier had tucked his legs under himself, making himself small and crowding away from Geralt's legs that say either side of him.

Subtlety scenting the air, he found no fear, only nervousness, content and a twinge of musky sweat. He relaxed further into the bards space, watching the water drip from his body, following each drop until it hit the surface of the bath or was caught by chest hair.

"Geralt."

"Hmm?"

"Did you want me to help you scrub as well? You've been staring at the chamomile pretty heavily." He met Geralt's gaze, looking worried and a little confused.

Geralt simply nodded, it was better to stick to old routines. Jaskier shifted forward on his knees, inadvertently rubbing his legs along the inside of Geralt’s as he got closer, stopping barely a foot from their chests touching. He lathered the oil in his hands, warming it up and sat back on his haunches. He delicately picked up one of the witchers scarred hands and pressed his thumbs into the palm, massaging his way up while Geralt let out content sighs. The musicians hands worked over both arms, moving onto Geralt’s legs, stopping just inches from the crease where his thigh met his hip. Geralt could feel the small calluses and the power Jaskier held in his hands as they moved to his shoulders, pushing him forward into the others space until he was nearly leaning into him, hands leading down his back and massaging the tension away.

Jaskier separated them to pour water onto the witcher’s silver locks, pouring more chamomile into his hands. Geralt rumbled deep in his chest at the gentle hands now combing the unkept mess back until it was shiny and flowing. He leaned forward again and hooked his chin over his bard’s shoulder, eyes meeting the bandage on the back of the bards neck with a twist in his gut.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I never wanted to hurt you.”

He felt the chest against his bard shuddered at the words but continued, “Not like this at least, forcing you to share a night with me, permanently scarring you…”

He sighs, burying his face into the comforting scent, “My… affection for you runs deep, little lark. I cannot deny it any longer, I can only beg your forgiveness and that you do not leave me, I know it is off putting but I do not think I could survive our separation. You are far too important to me. Please… forgive me.”

His heart fucking wrenched in his chest as Jaskier’s warmth pulled away and he steeled himself, ready to be screamed at, hit, abandoned, anything. He would deserve it. Hands cupped his jaw, soft lips pressed against his own and his eyes shot open, seeing a tearful Jaskier pulling away. The bard rested his forehead against Geralts and took a shaky breath.

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one conversation, when it comes to emotions, my dear witcher. I love you and I don’t mean as a companion or a friend, I love you more than the Gods love their children and I could forgive you for anything but it isn’t necessary this time. I have wanted that and /this/ for so long, I thought it hopeless.” His arms wrapped around Geralt and launched himself into the man’s lap, giggling through tears, happy tears he was told.

And they clung to each other until the water began to cool, washed the last of the soap from each other with careful hands and dried each other with even more care. Geralt redressed himself in normal clothes in order to retrieve their dinner from the inn below and upon his return, found Jaskier dressed in one of his spare black tunics on their shared bed, claiming none of his were suitable for sleep. Geralt smiled fondly and sat next to him, handing over a bowl and mug of surprisingly good ale.

They fall asleep that night cuddled up against each other like a pair of spoons, Geralt’s face tucked against soft brown hair, arms wrapped around his lovers waist and hands clutching the younger man to his chest. Like this, he could hear every hitch in the others breath, every skipped beat of his heart and his natural scent.

Blueberries. Woodsmoke. Chamomile.

Not a sour tang of fear anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Sorry for the somewhat abrupt end but they needed something good and I didn't want to wait for it. I already have other ideas/fic plans coming up but I'm always taking suggestions in the comments and over on my tumblr @dumppunk <3  
> Drop a kudos or comment if you enjoyed, it lets me know what you all prefer, love you all <3


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